


Beginning To End

by heartsdesire456



Series: Fire Against Ice (the series) [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsdesire456/pseuds/heartsdesire456
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a spree of suspicious murders begins to develop a rather personal pattern, Lestrade must find out how to catch a killer before his family and friends pay the ultimate price. When in the course of his investigation he discovers a secret Mycroft has been keeping, how will it effect his investigation and their marriage?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginning To End

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS THE FINAL PART! This is the last part of the Fire and Ice series and I do hope you enjoyed it all!

Greg shook his head as he walked around the body lying in the street and squatted down. “Tell me about him, Smith,” he said, looking up at the newest forensics expert.

The man pulled his curly hair back into a ponytail and finished off his clean suit with gloves. “Well, sir, black male, about fourteen or fifteen, no ID,” he said, nodding to his wallet. “A few quid and a stub from the cinema.” He handed the wallet to the man holding out an evidence bag to him, only to have Lestrade gasp. “Sir?” he asked, but Lestrade’s eyes were trained on the wallet, which had fallen open.

“Give me that!” he said quickly, snatching a glove out of his pocket to pinch around the wallet, unwilling to even put it on before taking the wallet. He pulled it and held it so it hung open, only to have his blood run cold.

The photograph stuck inside the dead boy’s wallet showed the boy, a woman, another girl, and- much to Lestrade’s complete horror- Evie. His own daughter was in a picture inside a murdered boy’s wallet. “Oh God,” he whispered. He dropped the wallet in the evidence bag and stood up, taking the bag from the confused pair of forensics blokes as he turned and walked off a few steps, pulling his phone out immediately. As he dialed a familiar number, he stared at the photo in the wallet.

“Gregory, is everything alright? It’s quite late. I thought you weren’t going to be back until morning-“ 

“Mycroft,” he cut him off, cursing at the snap in his voice. “Sorry, love, I know you were probably asleep but I need a favor and fast,” he said urgently.

Mycroft was silent for a moment but then he heard the tell-tale sound of Mycroft crawling out of bed and heading to the door. “What has happened?” he asked and Greg groaned, looking at the wallet.

“I need you to get a CCTV trace on Evie over the last twenty-four hours,” he said and Mycroft hummed.

“Why ever do you need that- wait, is she alright?” Mycroft asked quickly and Greg cringed.

“I’d know if she wasn’t. Her mother would notice if she was missing or injured and I’m a police officer, I’d be called immediately if something had happened to my daughter,” he said softly. “But I’ve just come to a scene with a dead kid and the photo in his wallet is of him, an older lady, another little girl, and Evie. This kid’s about her age and the only thing in his wallet is a ticket stub from the cinema and a few quid. I know it’s a long shot and it could be a coincidence and he’s just happens to go to the same school or something, but if Evie was with him before he was murdered, she could be-“

“In danger, yes, it is entirely possible,” Mycroft finished. “Give me fifteen minutes and in the meantime, why don’t you phone her mother just to be sure-“

“I was about to,” Greg said, chuckling weakly. “You know me too well, love.”

Mycroft laughed softly. “I’ve just learned how you think, Gregory,” he said softly. “Alright go make that call and I’ll call you as soon as I get the information, dear.”

Greg sighed in relief. “You have no idea how glad I am my husband is James Bond, Myc, no fucking clue right now,” he said, listening for Mycroft’s laugh before hanging up.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Mycroft was staring in shock at the screen when Anthea’s phone chirruped and she offered it to him. “For you, sir,” she said softly.

Mycroft tore his eyes away from the screen and took the phone. “Mycroft, I believe he’s gone back to London,” Sherlock said without preamble.

Mycroft sighed. “I would ask how you got her number but that would be wasting time so I’ll just get on with it.” He squared his shoulders and nodded to Anthea, watching as she wordlessly slipped out of the room. “He is in London, of that I’m quite positive.”

Sherlock let out a surprised sound. “What?! Why? Did something happen?” he asked quickly.

“I should say so,” Mycroft muttered, eyes trained on the screen. He had watched a man in tactical looking black clothing- face mask included- sneak out behind a young boy, stab him in the back, and then stand over him as he died while pulling out a sign on a sheet of paper. He held it up to the CCTV camera and stood there for a few seconds before shoving the page down his shirt and running away.

The sign read, _Would you like to play, Mr. Holmes-Lestrade?_  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Lestrade walked up to the door of his ex-wife’s house and rang the bell reluctantly. As he waited, he looked down at the photograph that had been cleared for him to take with him. Donovan was at his side, the police car parked on the curb behind them. When the door opened, Sarah was blinking tiredly, robe tight around her. “Greg?! What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed, pulling the door shut behind her.

Greg cringed. “I need to see Evie,” he said and Sarah glared.

“At four-thirty in the bloody morning?! Really, Greg-“

“Official police business, sorry,” Sally said and Greg nodded. Sarah looked confused but nodded, opening the door up to let them in.

“Sally, you stay here,” Greg said and she stopped by the door. Lestrade headed into the living room while Sarah went upstairs to get Evie. When she came back, Evie was yawning and looked confused.

“Daddy?” she asked sleepily, looking at him with a frown. “Dad, what’s wrong?” she asked and he patted the couch next to him. “Dad?”

Greg sighed. “Look… I need you to answer a few questions, alright, sweetie?” he asked and she nodded. “Did you go out last night?” he asked and she frowned deeper but nodded.

“What does this have to do with anything, Greg?” Sarah demanded and he held up a hand.

Evie looked confused. “I went to see a film with some friends, why?” she asked and he groaned, putting his face in his hands.

“Jesus,” he muttered, and then pulled out the photo. He looked at it, and then looked up at Evie. “I’m assuming you know these people?” he asked, showing her the photo.

Evie leaned over and nodded. “Yeah, that’s my friend Sabrina and her mum Janice,” she said and Greg nodded.

“Who’s the boy?” he asked and she looked again.

“Oh yeah! That’s Sabrina’s brother Charlie. He came with us last night. Their mum was working and Mrs. Janice didn’t want us going alone so she said for Charlie to go with us,” she said, then shrugged. “He left, after though. We went to the cinema and then when we got on the bus he left because he was going to his mate’s house. He’s sixteen so Sabrina says her mum doesn’t mind him going alone so much,” she said, then stopped. “Why do you have this picture?” she asked and Greg looked up at Sarah, whose eyes widened at the look in his face.

“Sarah, do you know Janice’s name and number so I don’t have to look her up?” he asked in a hollow voice and she looked stricken.

“What?!” she gasped and Evie suddenly looked more alert.

“Dad? What happened?” she asked and Greg gave her a sad smile.

“I’m sorry, darling, but I’m not allowed to say until I’ve contacted his mum,” he said gently and Evie gasped, hands covering her mouth. He just nodded sadly and pulled her into a hug, closing his eyes. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, but I really have to go now. I’ll call and see if you’re alright later, okay?” he whispered and she nodded, biting her lip as she looked up at him.

“Charlie’s dead, isn’t he?” she whimpered and he just smiled tightly.

“I’m really sorry for your friend and her mum, Evie,” he said simply, kissing her hair as he held her tight once more before standing. He looked at Sarah, who just nodded, heading over to the table by the stairs to grab her phone.

He walked over and stood waiting and she looked up at him. “Greg, please tell me this is a coincidence,” she said in a low voice and he just cringed.

“God I hope it is,” he said, pulling out his notepad and pen to write down the number and name of the mother of the victim.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Mycroft was at work still when his phone rang a few hours after he had spoken to Sherlock, so he was surprised when the call was from him. “I need to get from Brazil to London,” he said simply. “I got to Sao Paulo, now I need you to get me back to London _now_ ,” he hissed.

Mycroft sighed. “I’ve already booked your flight, pick up your tickets and come back. Even I can’t find the man on CCTV and I have access to more resources than even you know. It wasn’t funny when the last one tried to kill my husband, but if anything happens to my stepdaughters, Gregory may as well have been killed. I can’t find this man and if I can’t find him, that means he can find a way around the security details I’ve put on Gregory’s daughters.”

“Ah, so it’s stepdaughters now? My my, you have been domesticated, brother,” Sherlock intoned and Mycroft scoffed.

“Sherlock, we have long accepted I succumbed to sentiment, do stop bothering to try and rile me up about it,” Mycroft snapped. “Look, Sherlock, this isn’t a game. This isn’t a joke. Gregory’s children are at stake here, have some decency-“

“Yes, yes, I know,” Sherlock argued. “I’ll be back as soon as possible. Until then, just do whatever you can to keep security on the children and I’ll see what can be done-“

The door opened and Mycroft looked up quickly, surprised to see Anthea standing there with his phone in her hand. “I’ll speak to you later,” he said quickly, hanging up. She came to the desk and they exchanged phones. “Yes?” he asked into his own phone.

“Mycroft, I’m having a bit of trouble,” Greg said. “There’s no CCTV for the corner where that kid got stabbed. There’s a camera there and on the opposite corner but the footage is missing from both. Word is that the cameras were never repaired, but I’m almost certain I saw the lights blinking when we were there. Can you have a look into it? I know I try not to ask for much but I really can’t be bothered with professionalism when the dead kid had just left the cinema with Evie,” he said and Mycroft cringed.

He thought quickly but decided to just stall. “Of course, but I’m a little busy right now. I promise I will get it to you as quickly as possible, dear. If there’s footage to be had, I’ll do my best to get it to you.”

Greg sighed. “Alright, thanks, love. I’m going to have to back out of the investigation soon so I need it before I hand it over to Dimmock. Since I’m related to a person involved, I feel it best to back down due to conflict of interest, but I’m going to keep my hand in so it’s best I don’t have to explain where I got blocked CCTV footage, you know?”

Mycroft chuckled. “Of course, Gregory. I need to go, but I’ll do the best I can, alright?”

“Yeah that’s fine,” Greg said. “Love you, Myc.”

Mycroft felt a twinge of guilt and bit his lip. “Love you too, dear,” he echoed as he hung up.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Mycroft was confident Greg was asleep when he got home, only to curse when he dropped his shoe and Greg jerked in bed and sat up. “Myc?” he asked, leaning over to turn on the lamp, only to sigh. “Oh, sorry. Got startled there,” he said and Mycroft smiled, feeling a strange sense of calm come over him when he saw the affectionate grin on Greg’s tired face.

“That’s quite alright, love. I’m sorry I woke you,” he said. He finished undressing and walked over to give Greg a kiss. “I’ll join you shortly, just go back to sleep,’ he said, turning off the light as he gently pushed Greg back against the pillow. “You look tired.”

Greg chuckled. “Exhausted, love.” He squeezed Mycroft’s hand. “Mmmm, don’t be long, you need rest too,” he said before rolling over and tugging the covers back up over himself. Mycroft kissed his cheek and patted his hip before standing to go change into pajamas and get ready for bed.

When he returned, he crawled into bed, only to smile when Greg shuffled closer and curled an arm around his waist and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Goodnight, dear,” Mycroft said and Greg hummed, tucking a knee between Mycroft’s until they were well and truly spooning.

“Did you ever get that CCTV footage?” he asked tiredly and Mycroft yawned.

“Sorry, Gregory, but it really wasn’t available. I guess the cameras were on but not recording if the lights were blinking but there’s no footage. I’ll be sure to send in a request to repair broken cameras as soon as possible,” he lied and Greg sighed but nodded against Mycroft’s neck.

“It’s alright, love, not your fault.” He kissed the back of his neck. “Goodnight, Myc. Glad you woke me up so I got to see you for a minute. Don’t think I’ve so much as seen you with my own eyes in two days.”

Mycroft caught Greg’s hand and curled their fingers together on his middle. “I’m glad I woke you up too,” he joked, closing his eyes as Greg curled into him, settling down to fall asleep. He felt terrible for lying to his husband about something so personal, but it was far from the first time he lied to Greg and it wouldn’t be the last, the way his career worked. He knew Greg lied to him about his job as well. He just hated lying about a personal matter. It felt more like a real lie than a strategic evasion that way.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Lestrade shook his head as he looked at the young lady lying on the pavement. She’d been walking up the steps to a building full of flats when someone had stabbed her in the back. This time there was CCTV, he already had it being looked through back at the Yard, but he didn’t have much hope for an ID since the street light was out. As he looked through her pockets after the forensics team photographed her, he heard a woman scream and looked up to see Donovan catch a lady around the waist as she ran to the door of the building. 

“Oh God, Amy!” she cried, a hand over her mouth.

He looked at the woman then looked at the body in front of him before standing. “Excuse me, did you say Amy?” he asked and she nodded, pale and tearful. “You knew her?”

She sniffled and nodded, bottom lip wobbling. “Not well but- she-“ She swiped tears off her cheeks, stepping back from Donovan into the hall some. “Her name is Amy Wexler. She was picking me up,” she said, glancing back over Lestrade’s shoulder. “We just met and she- she asked me out for a drink and I was wondering whether I’d been stood up when the officer knocked on my door,” she said, looking shell-shocked.

He smiled sympathetically. “Sorry about your friend,” he said and she smiled sadly.

“I didn’t really know her, I met her at a book store a few days back and- and she seemed nice and she’s pretty so I thought ‘why not’,” she said, and then groaned. “Jesus, I think I’ve had enough signs to just give up dating,” she said and Donovan gave her a sympathetic pat.

“It’s alright,” she said. “Now you came from flat 3A, right?” she asked and the woman nodded. “Do you mind if we look around?” she asked, then cringed exaggeratedly. “It’s just that if you knew the victim and all…” she trailed off and the woman sniffled but nodded.

“Yeah, it’s okay.” She sighed. “I’ve got nothing to hide, that’s for sure,” she said weakly. 

Lestrade smiled at her then nodded to Donovan, who called for a few officers to come with her. “Look, Ms.-“ He stopped and chuckled. “I didn’t ask Sally,” he said apologetically and she woman smiled a watery smile and nodded.

“Harry- Harriet,” she amended. “Harriet Watson, but I go by Harry,” she said and Lestrade nodded to note it down, only to stop when he got to her last name.

“Did you say Harry Watson?” he asked, and she frowned but nodded. He bit his lip. “This may sound mad but… you wouldn’t happen to have a brother, would you?” he asked and she paled.

“Oh God, did something happen to Johnny?” she asked quickly. “Oh God, he didn’t do it again-“

Lestrade’s eyes flew wide. “NO! Oh God no, so sorry,” he said, holding up a hand. “No, he’s fine- well, he’s better,” he amended. “I just meant… your brother is John Watson, right?” he asked and she nodded.

“Yeah, is that relevant?” she asked.

Greg sighed. “God I hope not. It’s just John’s a friend of mine. When you said Harry Watson, I remembered he has a sister called Harry and I thought there can’t be many women called Harry Watson, even in a town like London.”

She nodded. “Yeah, John’s my little brother,” she said, then smiled. “You must be Greg, right?” she asked and Lestrade raised an eyebrow. She smiled sadly. “He doesn’t really have many friends, does he? Last few times we’ve talked, he only mentions his landlady, the women he works with, and ‘Greg’, you know.”

Lestrade nodded. “Well, Ms. Watson, we’ll have someone collect your statement pretty soon. We may need to ask you to come in, but it’s only procedure,” he explained. “It’s just that the victim was coming here expressly for you so we really have to-“

“I understand,” she said, nodding. “Such a shame,” she said softly. “She seemed like a really nice girl.”

Greg cringed. “A lot of them are, miss,” he offered in a sad tone.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Mycroft sighed as he answered his phone. “I cannot possibly come there-“

“Why not?! I can’t deduce where all the hidden cameras are if you don’t come here and let me see your tells!” Sherlock argued, though Mycroft could hear him trashing things either way. “Bloody potted plants-“

“Well excuse me for trying to give you a pleasant environment, Sherlock,” Mycroft argued. “Look, I’m very busy-“

“And I’m very BORED! You didn’t get me a laptop so I can’t research-“

Mycroft cringed. “Sherlock, you are living so bare because anything more would draw attention. I cannot come all the way to a temporary living building because it would strike anybody observing me as odd and give you away.”

“You are just denying me to keep me bored-“

“And what if I am?!” he said quickly, only to stop when the door of his office opened wider and Lestrade came walking in.

Greg smiled. “What if you are what?” he asked, nodding at the phone. “I’m assuming not business by your tone?” he asked, coming around to sit against the desk, leaning down to kiss Mycroft when he passed.

“Ew,” Sherlock said in his ear. “Did you just kiss him? Oh that’s disgusting, why on earth would someone do that-“

“Sorry, my dear,” he said to Greg, smiling. “Just an annoying coworker,” he said, then held up a finger to signal ‘one moment’. “And yes I did just kiss him, Sheryl-“

“SHERYL?! Honestly, that’s the best cover name you could come up with?” Sherlock groaned.

“He is my husband,” Mycroft soldiered on. “And I’m not working right now, so either let me get off the damn phone or deal with it.”

Greg smirked down at him, reaching out to curl a hand around his neck. “It’s sexy when you’re commanding, Myc, you rarely raise your voice,” he said softly.

Mycroft flushed slightly when he heard Sherlock’s immature false-gags. “Oh God, I change my mind, I’m gonna walk off the top of Bart’s for real this time. It’s too horrible-“

“Goodnight, I’ll call you in the morning during business hours,” Mycroft said quickly, hanging up. He groaned and tossed his phone lightly onto the desk, earning a chuckle from Greg, who shifted and put his feet on either side of Mycroft’s thighs on his chair, reaching out to catch his hands off of the armrests. Mycroft smiled and leaned forward, curling their fingers together as he tilted his lips up and kissed Greg slowly and unhurriedly. “Good evening, Gregory,” he said with a small grin.

Greg just chuckled. “Long day,” he said simply, sliding his feet off the chair to stand, straddling Mycroft’s legs. “C’mon, up you get. Long day in desk chairs. You and I have an hour before dinner and we’re conking out on the couch and not moving until then,” he directed and Mycroft’s lips twitched into a smile as he allowed himself to be pulled up.

“And your idea is to lie on the couch? For an hour? That’s meant to be better than desk chairs?” Mycroft asked, looking into those big, dark eyes he loved. “You do know my desk chairs are quite nice-“

Greg just cut him off with a kiss. “Deny it all you want, but you know you like a cuddle every once in a while,” he said with a grin. “C’mon,” he said, turning to head around the desk, pulling Mycroft along by his hand.

Mycroft just smiled in amusement as he let Greg lead him to the living room downstairs. When they got there, Greg flopped down on the couch and tugged Mycroft so that he fell alongside him, both of them sitting shoulder to shoulder. “Oh yes, so much better,” he joked, sliding down into the overly soft cushions.

Greg snorted and flung an arm around Mycroft’s shoulders. “Oh shut it, you know you enjoy it,” he said, pulling Mycroft closer to kiss his temple. Mycroft smiled and shifted some to slide his arm around Greg’s waist, turning his body towards Greg’s as he looked at his face. Greg raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Mycroft chuckled and reached up to touch Greg’s cheek. “You look younger than you are. It’s maddening,” he said, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. “Your hair is the only thing to suggest you’re nearly as old as you are.”

Greg gave him a chuckle. “I’m not sure if I should be offended you’re calling me old or glad I don’t look it,” he said, leaning in to kiss Mycroft’s jaw. “I’m not old until I reach sixty,” he said and Mycroft chuckled.

“I think of myself as an old man now and I’m not even fifty.” He smirked. “You do have a rather ‘young’ charm to you, Gregory,” he said and Greg chuckled, leaning in to kiss him teasingly slow.

“Somehow I suspect that’s code for ‘horny bugger’ in Mycroft speak.” He winked and kissed Mycroft again. 

Mycroft hummed against his lips, sliding his hand up the back of Greg’s neck into his hair. “Well, it is pretty common for me in their fifties to need pharmaceutical help to even have sex and yet you would probably try and talk me into bed every night if our work lives weren’t so hectic,” he teased and Greg chuckled against his lips as he stole another kiss.

“Fifty-one or not, I am a man,” he said with a lecherous grin. “Besides, as much as I love you, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want sex every night. It just seems that way to you because you’re rarely around at the same time as me that we aren’t both dead tired.” He winked. “I take advantage of having you to myself, is all.”

Mycroft tugged Greg into another kiss. “I do believe we have quite some time at the moment,” he said in his most enticing tone. “No interruptions for a good forty-five minutes-“ His voice slid into a moan as Greg pushed him back, shifting until they were horizontal on the couch. Mycroft chuckled in his throat, sliding his fingers through Greg’s hair with a happy sound. “Mmmm, Gregory.”

Greg groaned, catching his lips again. “Myc-“

“Hello? The lady at the door said to just come in-“ Greg sat up quickly, startled by the door opening, only to freeze when he saw John standing there. John raised an eyebrow, and then blushed when Mycroft sat up, sliding away from Greg. John looked away and cleared his throat. “Um, I can come back-“

“No, no, Doctor Watson, it’s fine,” Mycroft said, straightening his tie as he slid to his feet. “I’ll go check on Matilda,” he said to Greg, who just smirked and winked at him as he left through the door opposite John.

Greg just chuckled and straightened his hair. “Sorry,” he said and John snorted.

“No you’re not,” he said and Greg just grinned lecherously.

“You’re right, I’m not sorry at all,” he joked, sitting again as John took the chair to his left. “So what’s so important you came here? I’m surprised you got in, actually.”

John sighed. “My sister,” he said and Greg cringed.

“Poor girl,” he said, shaking his head.

John nodded. “She called after she left the station. Said what happened.” He looked up. “Look… I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but just a few hours ago, Mrs. Hudson was leaving and I asked why.” He looked at Greg seriously. “Her niece’s best friend got killed over the weekend and she was going to look after her after the funeral.” He gave him a nod as he saw Greg’s face pale. “She was stabbed.”

Greg cursed. “Shit,” he said, putting his hands over his face. “Well, there goes coincidence,” he said weakly. He looked up and bit his lip. “That kid that got stabbed a couple days ago?” John raised an eyebrow. “He was heading to a friend’s after taking his sister and her friend to the cinema.” He swallowed. “The sister’s friend was Evie.”

John gasped. “Shit.”

Greg nodded, running a hand over his face. “It appears somebody has a pattern. They’re killing people who are close to our loved ones. I guess it’s to show they know who and where they are. A warning.”

John nodded. “But why?” He asked. He flinched. “The only thing I can think of that links us three together is long gone,” he said in a steady voice, though Greg saw his hand shake against his leg. “It’s been three-quarters of a year, why now?”

Lestrade sighed. “Hell if I know, mate,” he said, scoffing. “Jesus, I hoped more than anything Evie was a coincidence, and then your sister made me suspicious but I still hoped… well, guess not.”

“What can we do?” John asked suddenly. “We may not get on, but Harry’s the only family I have and I’m not going to let anything happen to her,” he said firmly.

Greg nodded. “I have an officer following my girls to school and back and whenever they’re out. I don’t know if I can put anybody on Harry though,” he said apologetically. 

John chuckled dimly. “Well, I guess I can always stay with her for a little while. God help us,” he groaned.

Lestrade watched him for a bit before offering a soft smile. “How’re you doing lately?”

John offered him a grim smile. “Good, actually.” He shrugged. “Got off those bloody pills and I feel a lot better.” He looked up. “I know I haven’t said much, but thanks for being there for Mrs. Hudson when I… you know,” he coughed.

Greg nodded. “Not a problem. What’re mates for, you know?” he said, and John nodded.

“Good, that’s good.” He looked at his watch. “Well, I should probably go call Harry,” he said and Greg gave him apologetic look.

“I really am sorry I can’t do anything there-“

“No, it’s fine, Greg,” John said as he stood. “Sorry for… interrupting,” he said, cringing visibly.

Lestrade just smirked and snickered. “No worries, I’ll probably still get some tonight,” he said and John just groaned.

“Wow, thanks for that. Now I’ll be scarred for life worse than I already was,” he said on his way out the door, earning a somewhat immature chuckle from Lestrade as he went.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Lestrade smiled as John and his sister looked at the puppies a lady had next to her stand at the market. He had decided to use some time before meeting Mycroft to meet up with John and Harry to check in on them and they had met him at the market where John was shopping for produce while his sister walked with him. They had stopped when a little puppy tried to hop out of a cardboard box and tumbled out onto the pavement. John knelt down to scoop it up, chuckling as he put it back into the box, only to see four more in there. The lady had walked over and knelt down to help right the blanket in the bottom of the box and laughed when the same puppy tried to climb back out again.

“He just seems keen on an adventure,” she said, reacting as he tumbled out again, only to stop when John caught him.

“He’s a cute little guy,” he said, holding the puppy up to look at him. He was a small, wrinkly little tan puppy with big brown eyes. “Do you know what kind he is?” he asked and she shook her head.

“Just a mutt. An old girl showed up at our house and had a litter of puppies in the garden. She hung around with them in the hedge for a while then one day she ran off and I was stuck with a bunch of pups,” she said, petting one of the others. “I figure I’d take them after work to try and give them away.”

John rubbed the puppy’s floppy ears and smiled down at him. “He sure is adorable,” he said in a soft, thoughtful voice.

Harry smiled and nudged him. “You could do with a pet,” she said gently and John smiled up at her. 

The lady gave him a somewhat hopeful look. “He could really use a good home,” she said and John looked at the little puppy that was now licking his hand. “This small, they shouldn’t get too big, I don’t think,” she added and he chuckled.

“The flat will be pretty lonely when Harry leaves again,” he reasoned, smiling at the puppy. “What do you say? Do you want to come home with me?” he asked, smiling when the puppy licked his hand.

Greg’s phone rang and he answered it with a smile. “Hello, love. I was just getting ready to come meet you-“

“I’m afraid something has come up, Gregory,” Mycroft said tightly. “Rather important phone call, I’m sad to say. I can’t come meet you for lunch.”

Greg sighed but nodded. “Alright, I’ll see you at home tonight?” he asked hopefully.

“I hope so, my dear,” Mycroft said simply. “I must go, goodbye, Gregory.” With that he hung up, leaving the line empty.

Greg hated being left hanging but just chuckled. “Poor bugger,” he said, then put his phone back in his coat pocket. 

John stood up, holding the puppy against his chest. “I take it you’re free for lunch, then?” he asked, and Greg nodded. “Good, you can come with Harry and me to puppy shop,” he said, looking at the puppy in his hands then to the lady he got him from. “Thank you so much, are you sure you won’t take anything-“

“Hush you,” she chastised, waving a hand. “They need good homes and they aren’t mine to sell. Just take good care of the little dear,” she said and John nodded with a more genuine smile than Greg had seen on him since he’d survived his attempt on his own life.

“I’ll do just that,” he said simply, corners of his mouth twitching as he rubbed the puppy’s little head, shifting his hold so that they could walk off, taking their new cargo with them.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
“How’s Charlie doing?” Lestrade asked as John kept looking under the table where the three of them sat outside a café.

John smiled as he looked down at the little puppy that was playing with his shoestrings. “He’s fine. He’s going to be tired later, I bet,” he said and Harry chuckled.

“Look at you, all beaming mother,” she teased and John rolled his eyes at her.

Lestrade’s phone ringing interrupted and he answered with an apologetic smile. “Lestrade.” He listened and his eyes widened, then shut as he sighed. “Where?” he asked succinctly, pulling out his wallet. “Alright, thanks,” he said, hanging up.

John gave him a somewhat alarmed look. “Not another body,” he said but Lestrade nodded tensely.

“I’m afraid so.” He stood up and dropped some money on the table. “Sorry mate, gotta run,” he said, nodding to Harry before turning to head off.

When he got to the crime scene, he was somewhat surprised to see a car that looked terribly familiar pulling away from the curb across from the body, which was just inside a small alleyway across from a row of dingy, poorly kept, old houses. Lestrade ducked under the tape and nodded to McArthur, one of his officers. “That car,” he said, nodding at the black car disappearing around the corner. “Was my husband here?” he asked curiously.

McArthur shook his head. “Not that I know, but I don’t know what he looks like. If he was, nobody asked for you, I know that much.”

Greg hummed but went ahead to the body. “Alright, what do we have?” he asked, and Sally walked over, putting her radio in her pocket. 

“Homeless bloke stabbed in the back same as the others. Same type of wound, but we can’t know if they match until the body’s examined.” She shook her head. “Broad daylight, nobody saw him. We’re pulling the CCTV but they haven’t got it yet.”

Greg nodded. “Who called it in?”

She gave him a somewhat apologetic look. “Anonymous tip,” she said with a shrug.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. “Not in this day and age, they aren’t.”

“Yeah, but this one was,” she said and he frowned. “I don’t know, they tried pulling phone records but there’s _nothing_. It isn’t even on our end of the phone records.”

Lestrade glanced back across the street at where the black car had been parked. Blank phone records and black cars sure reminded him of a certain government official. “I wonder-“ He stopped abruptly when he saw a door open across the street and none other than _Anthea_ walked down the steps. He started to excuse himself and head across the street, only to barely get out a ‘Give me a second’ to Sally before a different black car slid to a stop and picked Anthea up with a smoothness so practiced that the car was barely stationary at all before continuing down the street. “Hang on a minute,” he mumbled. 

“Sir?” Sally asked and Greg held up a hand.

“I’ll be right back.” Lestrade pulled out his phone as he started across the street. As it rang and he waited for Mycroft to answer, he looked around at the steps leading up to a nondescript house with cracked paint reading _345_ and buzzers indicating flats A through D. 

“Sorry Mr. Lestrade, but Mr. Holmes is busy at the moment,” Anthea said, and Greg raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? I thought he had a call? Surely he’s free by now?” he asked.

“Another matter came up. Rather secret, I’m terribly sorry,” she apologized, sounding everything but sincere. “Do you need to leave a message? I’m at his desk now.”

Greg sighed and ran a hand over his face. “No, well yes,” he amended. “Just tell him I may be late and not to wait for me before having dinner. Tell him I’m really sorry but something came up. He’ll understand.”

“Of course he will, sir. Will that be all?” she asked as pleasantly as ever and Greg fought a snort.

“That’s it, thanks,” he said, hanging up. He looked up at the building before pulling out his radio. “Donovan.”

“Sir?” her voice crackled and he turned to see her waving at him. 

He shook his head visibly. “I’m going to check something out, but I doubt it’s related to our crime. Just a hunch. Don’t let anybody in this building, alright? If I don’t radio, call, or come out in five minutes, something has happened, copy that?”

“Give you five minutes and then come after you, got it,” she said, and he nodded so she could see and threw up a thumbs up. “Are you sure this is a good idea-“

“I need to be quiet right now, so text if you need me terribly,” he said before turning the volume down on the radio. He looked at the buzzers and saw only two showed occupants, if the broken buttons of the other two were anything to go by. The top one was blank but the first floor, flat A, shows a Mr. and Mrs. Goldstein. He took a guess and buzzed apartment A.

After a moment an elderly voice answered, “Yes, hello?”

“Hi, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade. There’s been an incident across the street and I was hoping to get statements from the occupants of the local residences. May I come as you a few questions?” he asked politely.

“Yes, of course.” The door made a buzzing noise and the lock released. He opened the door and quickly jogged past flat A and up the stairs. He would speak to the Goldsteins, but he highly doubted Anthea was there. He got to the second floor landing and saw B and C both appeared to be empty. There was dust on the door handles and no sign of coming or going. He treaded softly and reached up the back of his shirt to pull his gun free, holding it at his side as he eased up the stairs. 

When he reached the landing, he saw dirt on the floor by the door and heel scuffs on the tile. He flicked the safety off and eased off to the side of the door. He listened, hearing the creaking footsteps of what sounded like someone pacing. He closed his eyes and strained his hearing, only moving once he confirmed that there seemed to only be one person inside, one who was pacing a groove in the floor. He made a decision and reached out to knock three solid times on the door, ducking back against the wall on the hinge side of the door, gun raised and ready. 

However, when he heard footsteps pounding towards the door, the voice belonging to those feet called out, “Oh God, don’t you ever leave me alone?!” Lestrade knew that voice. He knew it well. But he also knew he had to be wrong. As the lock sliding snapped him back into reality, he reacted just as the door opened and swung around, gun trained on the owner of that voice. The man threw a hand up to block him but Greg quickly kicked out and yanked the man’s knee forward, causing him to collapse against the frame and free Greg’s gun, since his reaction was to flail out for the door casing to stay upright. “AH!” the man cried out in alarm, only to look up and freeze.

Greg froze as well, eyes widening. His brain worked overtime, synapses firing and firing again, every thought in his mind racing like a thousand rockets around his head. Every conversation over the last nine months, every word he had spoken, every word John and Mycroft had spoken to him, every single solitary second filtered through his mind trying to find some way to make sense of the sight before him.

Sherlock Holmes was standing in the doorway of the shoddy apartment in a bad neighborhood right across the street from a murder scene nine months after he took his life in front of a crowd of people.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock uttered, actually looking surprised. His eyes flickered to Greg’s gun and back to Lestrade. “Who gave you a gun?” he asked, surprise quickly being replaced with that same childish sneer Lestrade had spent nine years dealing with. “And how did you stop me disarming you?!” he asked, looking frustrated. “Has Mycroft had you _weapons trained_ already? Dull.”

Greg fought for words. He searched for anything to say and settled on simply responding. “Actually, I’ve had a gun for about four years. And I did take police training once upon a time, thank you very much,” he retorted.

Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “Four years? _How did I miss-_ ”

Greg’s brain finally caught up and he felt his anger rising, cheeks flushing with rage. “So. Unless I’ve finally lost it, you’re Sherlock Holmes and you’re very much not dead.”

Sherlock winced. “Ah, yes that-“

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE!” Greg roared. He turned on the safety and shoved his gun in his coat pocket before grabbing a hold of Sherlock’s collar and shoving him back into the flat, kicking the door shut behind him to slam Sherlock against the wall next to the door inside. “ _Nine months_!” he spat. “I thought you were _dead_ for NINE months!” He growled and hauled Sherlock away from the wall to throw him into the room, a grim sense of satisfaction as he fell to the floor and scrambled to his feet, looking actually afraid. “Jesus Christ, my friend nearly _killed himself_ over you, you piece of shit!” 

Sherlock tensed and Lestrade frowned when he saw Sherlock’s eyes lose some of their brightness. “I know,” he said simply. He walked over to a threadbare sofa and sat, pulling his shirt straight as he sat. “You may not hear these words again, but I am sorry,” he said earnestly. His eyes said it all. “You have always treated me like a person when others didn’t and I have always been grateful underneath it all. However, I did what I had to do in the circumstances.” He looked down, eyes momentarily flashing pain. “I had no idea John would react so badly.”

Lestrade snorted and walked over to flop down in the dreary chair across from him. “Fuck me, if the man I loved had _killed himself in front of me_ I might just give up on life too, you sadistic bastard.”

“I did not know the extent of John’s affections for me,” Sherlock said softly, looking terribly uncomfortable. “He- He was meant to move on. To mourn and then soldier on.” He smiled sadly down at his knees. “John always adapts-“

“You don’t adapt to your only real friend leaving you, Sherlock,” Lestrade said, though he felt a pang of sympathy. “You didn’t even know that, did you?” he asked weakly.

Sherlock sniffed. “I learned,” he admitted, crossing his arms over his chest in a huffy fashion. “Solitude may have protected me at one time, but… relearning to be alone was not easy, even for my superior mind.” He cringed. “Learning of John’s actions...” he shook his head, eyes hollow. “I’m ashamed to say I wept for the first time in at least thirty years.”

Lestrade scoffed. “Swear to God, I fucked myself royally when I got involved with you, Sherlock,” he said and Sherlock glared. “What?! I faced so much shit for nine years, I put my career on the line for you, I cared about a fucking junkie with a superiority complex, and when he’s finally seemed to work himself out, he _kills himself_ , I love my job, my newest friend loses his will to live, my stupid arse goes against logic and makes up with a blooding bastard who ignored me for _months_ , marry the lying bastard, _get shot_ for something I’m now assuming was your fault, and I swear to God, if I wasn’t one hundred percent sure you know why a homeless man was the fourth victim in a series of murders that target my children, Mrs. Hudson’s family, and John’s sister, I’d _wring your bloody neck_ ,” he finished angrily.

Sherlock cracked a sardonic smile. “Divorce then? Lovely, I don’t have to be related to you anymore,” he droned and Lestrade actually had to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. He was sitting in the rundown flat of his dead brother-in-law who wasn’t actually dead at all.

“No, I think I’m going to be a widower, so you’ll be an only child,” he said and Sherlock actually smiled.

“Careful what you say, I’m sure my brother has this flat bugged. Husband or not, there’s probably someone to take you out before you act on your revenge,” he said and Lestrade couldn’t help another round of near-hysteric laughter.

Sherlock actually joined his laughter and Lestrade was surprised at how much he had missed Sherlock. He knew he missed him at first, but he had mostly been supporting Mycroft’s grief and then John’s once Mycroft accepted and moved on. Lestrade suddenly had a sinking feeling. “How long has Mycroft known you’re alive?” he asked seriously.

Sherlock seemed to count for a moment. “I did lose track of time in my journeys, but I would say… a few months after my demise. Oh no! I sent a wedding gift, I’m sure he deduced I was alive from-“

Lestrade’s jaw clenched. “That bloody book,” he spat, shaking his head. “Our whole marriage. All this time, even after I _got shot_ , he’s lied to me-“

“Oh I’m sure he lies about a lot-“

“Not that matters,” Lestrade said harshly. “I know he has secrets, God knows I do. Hell, I have to keep my own even though I know he knows stuff before even I do. It isn’t a matter of covering for Queen and country, it’s the matter that he lied about a man I actually cared for _being dead_ , Sherlock.” He shook his head. “Jesus, I’m going to have to kill my own husband because if I don’t do it, John will and John will get ‘erased’ for it, at least I’ll get a nice funeral-“

Sherlock hissed slightly. “John cannot know I’m alive,” he said quickly. Lestrade froze and Sherlock gave him a panicked look. “You don’t understand. You may be safe enough because you’re always under surveillance, but there is a reason I threw myself off of a building.” He swallowed visibly, eyes boring into Lestrade’s. “Three snipers, Lestrade. You’re right, you did get shot because of me. I lost track of one of the men I was after and he thought since I was alive that he had to finish his orders. The three were ordered to kill you, Mrs. Hudson, and John if I didn’t kill myself,” he said, shaking his head. “I may not be honest often, but you three are the only friends I have,” he said softly, eyes shining. “There’s one man left. He’s the one killing people. Your children are fine, Mycroft has bodyguards following them everywhere they go, even on top of your surveillance, so they will be safe.” He gave Greg a pleading look. “But John, he’s the one they want to kill. They want to force my hand-“

Greg snorted, giving him a somewhat dark look. “And why would hurting John do that. If you gave a damn about him, you wouldn’t have did that to him-“

“HE WASN’T MEANT TO BE THERE!” Sherlock exploded, leaping to his feet. He shoved past the rickety coffee table and paced. “He got a call saying Mrs. Hudson had been shot. I knew something like that would happen and I didn’t want John seeing-“ He paused and his voice caught. “I knew I would survive, but my emotions were real on that roof, Lestrade. I had to convince the only person whose opinion really matters that I was a fake. I had to break every trust we had. I had-“ His voice broke and Greg’s eyes widened. “I had to make him watch me die. I had to hurt him in the worst way possible because he was too fast, he was too smart. He worked it out and came back.” Sherlock looked up with shockingly wet eyes. “John was not supposed to see,” he said simply.

Lestrade watched him for a few moments and sighed. “He’d have gone with you,” he said softly. “Wherever, whatever you were doing,” he clarified. “John would’ve followed you anywhere.”

Sherlock smiled a sad, fond smile at the window as he passed it in his pacing. “Of course he would. John is patient, caring, devoted- all the things that make him a good doctor.” He paused. “And he’s strong and loyal. Always brave. Always,” he whispered. “Always a soldier in everything.”

“You probably could’ve used a doctor and a soldier on your side, don’t you think?” Lestrade asked and Sherlock shook his head vehemently.

“I expected to die,” he admitted. He looked up. “The things I was doing, the places I was going. I had a mission. One I had to finish. I did not expect to survive for long,” he admitted. “I expected to die and I was okay with that. Because I was dying so that John could live.”

Lestrade frowned. “Don’t you think he would’ve been willing to do the same?” he asked and Sherlock glared at Lestrade. “What? You could’ve used the help and John would be willing to die to save anybody, especially you.”

Sherlock stood tall and crossed his arms. “No. The world needs John Watson.”

“You’re the genius,” Lestrade argued but Sherlock looked up and met his eyes.

“John is good.” He smiled and shook his head. “A true mark of how greedy society has become, Lestrade. I’m useful, I’m a genius, but John Watson is _good_.” He looked out the window. “The world needs John more than it needs me,” he whispered. 

They were startled by feet pounding up the stairs outside. Greg cursed and pulled out his phone, seeing missed calls, then looked at Sherlock. “Hide!” he hissed. Sherlock quickly ducked into the next room and Lestrade ran to the door. He took a breath and opened it, stepping out just in time to see Donovan and four other officers coming to the door. “Whoa!” he cried, holding up his hands as they almost collided. 

Sally looked confused as he stepped out and shut the door behind him. “Sir? I thought you said five-“

“Yeah well I forgot,” he admitted. “I’m sorry about that, but it was just an old lady,” he said, shrugging. “Just an old lady with a hearing aid. I didn’t want to alarm her by getting calls so I turned off my phone.” He fixed the others with a smile. “No problems here. She didn’t see anything. Sorry for causing alarm,” he said, looking back to Donovan.

She nodded. “Alright, you heard him. Nothing to see here,” she said, giving him a suspicious look before they all turned and left, Greg at the rear.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Mycroft had just arrived at his office at the Diogenes Club when his phone rang. He took it out and Anthea’s voice startled him. It held inflection. Anthea never showed emotion. “He saw me.”

“Who did?” Mycroft asked quickly, mind racing through who ‘he’ could be. There were a dozen possibilities from Sherlock seeing her plant the latest bug to the assassin discovering where Sherlock was hiding.

“Your husband,” she said and Mycroft’s heart stopped. Time stood still as he realized she meant something entirely different.

“I was told he was all the way across town before this morning’s meeting, how did he get to the scene before you left-“

“Sergeant Donovan picked him up half-way there rather than a car coming all the way from New Scotland Yard. I didn’t check surveillance while I was hiding the bug from Sherlock, but it appears he arrived just as you were leaving. He saw me leaving and I lost him on CCTV when he went into the building. Chances are, he’s already found Sherlock by now-“

“Oh Lord,” Mycroft breathed, putting his head in his hands. “I’m a dead man,” he groaned. “Why did I have to marry such a clever man?! Why didn’t I fall in love with an imbecile?!” 

“Would you like warning before he comes home tonight sir?” Anthea asked and Mycroft scoffed.

“Gregory isn’t coming home tonight. He’ll go stay with John or sleep at his office.” He sighed. “Will you think differently of me when I’m divorced?” he asked and Anthea once again didn’t react. “Thank you, Anthea, that will be all.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Mycroft was surprised when he came down to dinner and found Greg just walking in, laying his coat across the back of his chair as he saw. “Oh! Sorry, love, didn’t know you were home,” Greg said, voice not showing anything other than a normal, calm mood. Much the surprise for someone who had discovered his husband was lying to him. “So, how was work?” he asked and Mycroft gave him a subtly confused look, trained not to show his surprise too much.

“It was alright, you?” he asked as they both set into the plates Matilda brought over.

Greg shrugged, taking a bite of food. “Not bad. I spent some time with John this morning. He got a dog. Cute little puppy. Named him Charlie,” he said with a small grin. “Harry was nice, too.”

Mycroft nodded, still thoroughly confused. “How was your work?” he asked and Greg waved his fork slightly before taking another bite.

“There was actually another body. Homeless bloke. Wasn’t sure what the connection was at first,” he said and Mycroft gave him a measured look before taking another bite of food.

“So, did you find the connection then? You said ‘at first’,” he prompted, pushing a carrot around with his fork.

Greg nodded. “Yep.” 

Mycroft waited for a bit before nodding. “So what did you do with your afternoon? Find the connection?”

Greg shook his head, eating another bite. “Nah, I’d worked it out by then. Set Donovan and the team to that.” He took a sip of water, not looking up as he did so. 

Mycroft cringed. “So… what did you do then?” he asked and Greg shrugged.

“Not much, spoke to this nice lady divorce lawyer, is all.” Mycroft sighed and put his head in his hands. “Nice conversations going on-“

“Gregory-“

“About divorce. I didn’t know the first time that you have to be married a year to get a divorce-“

Mycroft cringed. “My dear-“

“Oh well, it’s only a few months until that’s not a problem-“

“Greg, please-“

Greg slammed his fork down and stood up abruptly. “How could you lie to me, Mycroft?! How _dare_ you look at me like that knowing the way you lied to me?!” he asked angrily before turning to storm out.

Mycroft just sighed and put his face in his hands, listening to the sounds of Greg stomping up the stairs before he stood to follow him. He got to their room and felt his heart seize as he saw Greg pulling clothes out of the closet to toss on the bed, where an opened suitcase sat beside the pile. “Gregory, please, let me explain-” he started and Greg scoffed.

“Oh yeah, now you want to start telling me things!” he accused and Mycroft walked over to sit on the bed, folding Greg’s clothes absently. “I swear to God, Mycroft, I put up with a lot- and I mean a LOT- for you, Mycroft, but finding out Sherlock isn’t dead and that you knew about it for seven of the past nine months is my limit,” he argued, shaking his head as he threw a shirt at the bed. “My life has become a FUCKING JOKE!” he shouted angrily, kicking the closet door. “I honestly wish I’d never met Sherlock Holmes because since the day ten years ago that I met him, my life has gone downhill from there! I should be a Chief Inspector now, you know?” he tossed out. “I should be sitting on my arse in a nice office doing paperwork. I gave up the option of promotion for SHERLOCK BLOODY HOLMES, can you believe it?!” he asked and Mycroft honestly had never heard that before. “Four years ago, Mycroft! Four years ago I got offered the promotion but nobody else would work with Sherlock and I bloody well knew if he couldn’t get police cases anymore he’d go back to the drugs and I cared too fucking much about that pathetic, fucked up, BRILLIANT man to do it!” He snorted. “I’d have gotten a nice raise, a better pension plan, and fewer hours for it. I’d probably have never gotten divorced, I’d have my kids still, and I’d have a nice bloody house in the suburbs if it wasn’t for Sherlock Holmes. And God knows I love you, Mycroft, but I honestly don’t know that I wouldn’t be happier if I’d never met you either,” he said honestly, voice strained as he stopped at the closet door and closed his eyes, letting his head fall against the door casing. 

Mycroft swallowed hard and glanced down at his lap. “Do you really mean that?” he asked weakly, his heart slowly shattering with each and every breath. “Do you really regret ever meeting him and, subsequently, me?” 

Greg leaned back against the open door and pushed a hand through his hair as he slumped some. “Honest, Myc?” he asked weakly before smiled sadly, eyes shut. “I don’t think I do,” he admitted, though it seemed to cause him pain to do so. “I wish I did, I’m so angry, but to be perfectly honest, I can’t-“ He swallowed hard. “I can’t imagine that I’d ever want to erase the life I’ve had since I met your brother.” He scoffed and turned to punch the wall with an angry cry. “Fuck it, I want to hate you and him both, but I can’t, Mycroft,” he choked out, face so gaunt and pale it seemed as if he was finally showing his age. He let his head clunk against the wall and sighed before turned around to come out into the bedroom. “Do you know how pathetic I feel right now?” he asked weakly, looking at Mycroft with such pain in his eyes and cast across his face that Mycroft felt like the world may as well end. “You _lied_ to me about something so incredibly serious that I should hate you. I should feel absolutely disgusted by the idea of you. This is worse than my ex-wife cheating on me multiple times, if we’re honest.” He shook his head with a broken look in his usually warm, brown eyes. “But I can’t hate you,” he admitted. “God help me, I can’t remember anything ever leaving me feel so betrayed and exposed, and yet I don’t think I can actually pack that blood bag and leave you,” he admitted, stopping in front of Mycroft. “How could you, Myc?” he asked in a fragmented, frail voice for such a strong man.

Mycroft took a deep, shaking breath and looked up at him. “Because I wanted to protect you,” he said firmly. “I am sorry, my dear, you cannot IMAGINE how sorry,” he choked out in a rush. “But from the very start I had no idea where Sherlock was or what he was doing. I only knew he was alive because that book and the inscription was a joke that only he would make. After that, I didn’t hear from him until you were shot and it was too late to protect you,” he said earnestly. “You were shot because of the same reason Sherlock faked his own death. He killed himself to save three people-“

“Yeah I know, me, Mrs. Hudson, and John,” Greg filled in. “We did talk today, you know,” he said bitterly. “So great, I got shot already, why didn’t you tell me after that?” he demanded. “How could you possibly hide the fact that the man who shot me did so because he thought I knew Sherlock was alive?!”

Mycroft shook his head. “Sherlock could’ve died at any time. I expected it, really.” He looked up at him. “I know you love him like a son, Greg. How could I tell you he’s alive if I knew he would just get himself killed? How could I make you suffer through losing him twice?” he asked and Greg’s glare softened some.

“That doesn’t make it okay to hide it-“

“What would you have had me do?” he asked, standing up to walk to where Greg was standing in the middle of the room. “Tell me, Gregory, what would you have done differently?! If you knew, you would be in danger again. If he died, you would suffer losing him again. If you did something to tip anybody watching off as to where Sherlock was since he’s come back to London, they could’ve killed you _both_ ,” he stressed. “I hated lying to you, it felt wrong to hide this! I knew the whole time you deserved to know, but no guilt is ever worse than _losing you_!” he urged, reaching out to touch Greg’s chest over where they both knew the scar from the attempt on his life was. “You don’t know, Gregory.” He shook his head, swallowing against the most emotion he had felt or shown in a long time. “I thought you were dying. I thought you would _die_ -“

Greg’s breath caught and he reached up to cover the and on his chest. “Mycroft-“

“I would see this city burn before I lost you,” Mycroft breathed. “I lost my brother. Even if I only thought he was dead for two months, I spent two months thinking the boy I half-raised myself was dead and yet I _could not_ function the way I did then if I lost you, Gregory.” He bit his lip and felt a stab of panic as he realized there was a tear escaping from his eyelashes. “I lied to protect you because I couldn’t protect him and it ended in his death. I lied because I did not expect a second assassin would make the same mistake of a survivable shot.” He looked into Greg’s eyes as he practically pleaded with his body language. “I lied because I saw what losing the person who matters most did to John and I didn’t want it to happen to me,” he admitted in an almost sob.

Greg, for all of his anger and determination, let out a shaky breath and pulled Mycroft into his arms as he began to cry. “Shhhh, it’s okay, love-“

“Please, don’t hate me, Gregory, I never did this to hurt you!” Mycroft choked out, curling his arms around Greg’s neck, holding on as he was crushed into a hug.

“I know, love, I know,” Greg sighed, turning to press his face into Mycroft’s hair, one arm around his waist and the other hand curled around his neck. “I love you, too,” he whispered, kissing his ear. “I love you too, okay? I’m sorry I shouted-“

“No, I deserved it,” Mycroft admitted weakly, eyes crushed tight as he clung to Greg. “I’m so sorry, my dear. You cannot imagine how sorry.”

Greg laughed wetly, closing his eyes as he held his husband close. “I’d imagine so, love,” he tried to joke, holding Mycroft in his arms as he shook. “Hush, love. It’s alright.”

Mycroft snorted softly. “It isn’t alright, I’m a terrible person.”

Greg grinned. “Well yeah, you kind of are,” he joked, earning a grumpy sound. “But I’m saying I understand, alright?” He pulled back and looked into Mycroft’s eyes. “I understand why you lied. It doesn’t make it okay, but… I know I’d have done anything to protect you, as well.” He stroked a finger across Mycroft’s cheek, shaking his head. “I’m hurt, and angry, and I cannot believe you could be so deceitful,” he said, rolling his eyes. “But at the end of the day, Mycroft Holmes, I love you,” he whispered, leaning their foreheads together. “I would do anything for you and I can understand where lying to you might come into it.” He smiled sadly. “Please, Mycroft. Please don’t do anything like this again. I just- I couldn’t take it.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t handle it at all.”

Mycroft nodded, sliding his hands up to curl into Greg’s hair. “I cannot express to you how much it took to lie to you just to protect you, Gregory.” He looked into his eyes and leaned in to kiss him softly, but with more meaning than either of them could miss. “I love you so much, Gregory. You are the most important thing to me and I am so sorry I ever hurt you.”

Greg just groaned and pulled Mycroft into a kiss, hands curling around his waist as he kissed him hard, startling a moan out of Mycroft. “I love you, Myc, fuck do I ever,” he gushed between kisses, moaning as Mycroft’s hands tangled in his hair, their bodies pressed together as they kissed feverishly.

Mycroft moaned, sliding his hands up Greg’s shirt. “Greg, please,” he breathed between kisses and Greg held his arms up, letting Mycroft shove his shirt off, not bothering to undo more buttons in favor of stripping it off over his head. Greg immediately kissed him again, fingers immediately starting on Mycroft’s waistcoat. Once that was undone, he and Mycroft worked together on the buttons of his shirt before Greg shoved it off over his shoulders, using the moment Mycroft untangled his arms to strip off his undershirt. He immediately caught Mycroft’s waist and kissed him against as he backed him over to the bed. He reached out and shoved the clothes and suitcase off of the bed before pushing Mycroft down on it, crawling on top of Mycroft as they both made their way fully onto the bed to resume kissing. Neither wanted to stop kissing or take their hands off of each other long enough to productively rid each other of their trousers and pants, though eventually they both managed to get naked. 

Greg pushed Mycroft back over onto his back after pulling his pants off and sprawled on top of him, kissing him hard and biting as he pinned his wrists down possessively, rocking their hips together as he did so. Mycroft moaned and arched his back, hands clenching at nothing as Greg held his wrists down. “Gregory, please-“ He was cut off by the sound of his mobile ringing from just under the pillow next to him, clearing having flow out of his pocket when Greg stripped him.

Greg snorted and dug the phone out, taking one look before noticing the bedroom door still open and throwing it out of the room, smirking when it landed in the hall with and audible crunch. Mycroft gasped and gave him an affronted look but Greg just smirked, grinding their hips together in a way that made Mycroft’s eyes flutter. “Fuck ‘em, Britain can crumble around us for all I care right now,” he said simply and Mycroft managed a small chuckle before Greg’s lips reclaimed his, wiping any thought of a retort out of his mind altogether.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
“I’m actually quite certain England has fallen in the hour and a half since you haven’t had a phone,” Greg teased and Mycroft scoffed, pinching at his side in retaliation. “Hey!” Greg caught his hand and pulled it to his lips to kiss. “I’m serious. Have you had an hour and a half off-call since you started your ‘minor position’?” he asked and Mycroft chuckled.

“Well, I had Anthea hide my phone from me the day of our wedding, so that was a good twelve hours without being reachable under any circumstances,” Mycroft admitted. “But otherwise, no, probably not,” he said, then grinned as he rolled closer and laid his head on Greg’s shoulder, hand on his chest. “I feel ridiculously similar to a rebellious teenager. Only I’m an extremely middle-aged man and my ‘mum’ is the British Government.”

Greg snorted. “I can’t imagine you as a teenager,” he said, curling his arm around Mycroft tighter, stroking his fingertips along the outside of his arm. “Did you come out of the womb a grown up?” he joked and Mycroft chuckled.

“Believe it or not, I _was_ a teenager, once,” he mocked, bumping his forehead into Greg’s chin. “I think the most rebellious thing I ever did, however, was getting pissed with some other boys in my philosophy class in University and breaking into the library one night to rearrange all of the books in the English section so that nobody could find what they wanted,” he admitted.

Greg barked out a laugh. “I can’t believe you did even _that_!” he said, then shook his head, grinning. “My husband the little posh vandal,” he teased and Mycroft hummed, sliding a hand through his chest hair. “I was a terrible kid,” he admitted with a soft laugh.

Mycroft snickered. “I know, I’ve seen your file,” he said, leaning back to look up at him. “Honestly, how did you end up a police officer?” he asked and Greg shot him a look.

“Oi, I’m not meant to have a record!” He shook his head. “You’re meant to tell me they kept all those old files around the ‘minor position’ office?” he exaggerated. “Hell, that would’ve been the late 70s and early 80s, everything had to have been on paper-“

“The old paper records have all been transferred into the computer networks for our office.” He nudged him. “Shouldn’t be but about five years before the police have access to those records, so you can look forward to that,” he teased and Greg chuckled.

“Oh Lord, you’ve seen all my records then?” he asked, groaning as he stroked his fingers along Mycroft’s bare back. “I was a terrible kid-“

“Petty vandalism at fifteen and it only escalated from there? I’d say so!” Mycroft mumbled, smiling against the side of Greg’s chest. “Did you _really_ break into a bakery when you were seventeen just to put green food coloring in the entire supply of milk?” he asked skeptically.

Greg barked out a laugh. “Oh God, I did!” he said, clinging to Mycroft as he laughed. “Oh it was amazing how stupid we were as kids, Myc. I grew up in a poor neighborhood and we spent all our times going around doing stupid things. I’m lucky I ended up a cop instead of a criminal, really,” he admitted. 

“Mmmm I’m shocked you got off without an actual charge for the incident with the ‘purely medicinal paraphernalia’ when you were nineteen,” he said, giving him a pointed look.

Greg sighed. “Well, it was seventy-nine or eighty, somewhere in there. Everybody had a bong, especially Uni kids,” he suggested with a mischievous grin and Mycroft chuckled.

“I guess things were a lot different back then. Now, all your ‘cleared records’ would be permanent, wouldn’t they?” he asked and Greg nodded.

“Oh yeah! Especially the breaking into a bakery one. I’d have probably done time! Or at least community service. As it was, I just got drove home so my mum could handle me. Not a lot of that anymore.”

Mycroft chuckled. “I did that to Sherlock,” he said and Greg raised an eyebrow. “I was already in my ‘minor position’ by the time Sherlock was a teenager and I didn’t have the most power at the time, but when he was at University and got particularly incorrigible towards everybody around him, I’d have him kidnapped and taken home to Mummy. She is the only one who can make him feel guilty,” he said and Greg groaned.

“Oh God, I cannot imagine Sherlock Holmes as a teenager. What did he even DO in University?” he asked and Mycroft shrugged.

“Not much, I don’t think. Alienated his professors and classmates by exposing their dirty laundry. Occasionally, I had to handle ‘situations’ from the course of his big mouth,” he said with a sigh. “That Boy was the worst.”

Greg yawned, rolling on his side to face Mycroft. “What boy?”

Mycroft cringed. “ _The_ Boy. Sherlock actually did have a relationship in University.” Greg’s jaw dropped. “His name was Victor and Sherlock thought he was the most brilliant person besides himself to ever walk the planet. He was a chemistry student like Sherlock and they met in a lab. He put up with Sherlock’s ‘personality’ for quite some time, even convinced Sherlock he loved him. Then, from my understanding, Sherlock wouldn’t sleep with him and he ended up calling him a freak and leaving him.” Mycroft grumbled. “Last person to dare breaking Sherlock’s heart.”

Greg gave him a suspicious look. “That sounds ominous,” he started and Mycroft smirked sweetly.

“Let’s just say the situation as dealt with-“

“Myc, you can’t admit to having somebody knocked off to me! I’m a COPPER-“

“I didn’t have him killed, I had him expelled.” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Greg. Like I’d tell you about someone I had killed!”

Greg shot him a disapproving look. “It really worries me that one day we’ll find a body and I’ll end up having to cover up evidence you did it,” he accused and Mycroft just smirked, leaning in to kiss him.

“I’ve never directly killed anybody and it’s all government approved when we have to have someone neutralized. You have no worries,” he said simply.

Greg scoffed. “I’ve already covered up enough of your brother’s petty crimes, I have a bad enough conscience as it is. So please continue to make it impossible for me to know you had a hand in things, alright?” 

Mycroft smiled affectionately. “Of course, dear.”

Greg sighed and tapped his thumb against Mycroft’s arm. “I am still pretty angry at you, Myc,” he said softly and Mycroft gave him a nod, closing his eyes to tuck his face into Greg’s neck. 

“I know, and I do understand,” he said softly. “I don’t expect forgiveness, just understanding, my dear. That’s all I want.”

Greg chuckled weakly. “God help me, I do understand. I’d probably do anything to protect you so I can understand, it just hurts.” He kissed Mycroft’s head. “I love you.”

Mycroft nodded against his chest. “I love you with all my heart, Gregory. Always.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Lestrade chuckled as Charlie brought him back the ball, dropping at his feet with a happy yap. “I think your dog loves me more than you,” he teased John, taking the ball to throw it again.

John smiled. “He likes running around, I think. He loves to run up and down the stairs at home. Mrs. Hudson has to call me down to get him when he gets in her flat and decides to fall asleep on the floor there instead of come home,” he said, running over to Charlie to take the ball and throw it again, smiling when the puppy took off again, running over to where the ball had landed next to an old couple sitting on a bench feeding the birds.

Greg smiled. “I wish I had time for a dog-“ Greg froze when he felt something cold and hard press into his lower back, a body materializing almost as if out of nowhere.

“I doubt highly that your husband would care for a dog, now would he, Mr. Holmes-Lestrade,” a voice said against his ear. Lestrade looked up in panic, hoping John was far enough away, only to have his heart drop as he saw John staring in wide-eyed shock. “Afternoon, Dr. Watson,” the man said in a sinister tone. “You’ll be good enough to get into the car,” he said, and Lestrade glanced left to see a silver car at the gates to the park. “Both of you. Now.”

John held his hands at his side as meekly as possible and followed the instructions. Lestrade followed him, letting the man guide him into the car after John. When they were locked into the backseat and the man went around to the driver’s side, John turned to Lestrade. “Greg, what the fuck is going on?!” he hissed and Greg shook his head.

“I am so sorry for this, John. I’m almost certain this is someone wanting to use me as a bargaining chip to get Mycroft’s attention. I swear, if this goes to plan, you’ll be safe. They want me, not you,” he whispered and John glared.

“I bloody well figured as much, I’m not married to a high-powered government official.” He shook his head. “I can’t bloody believe it. Do you know how long it’s been since I was kidnaped? A bloody long time!” he cursed and Lestrade shot him an apologetic look.

When the man climbed into the car he smirked back at them. “Quiet types, eh?”

Lestrade narrowed him with a glare. “Whatever you want, my husband won’t give it to you,” he warned and the man chuckled.

“Oh, I believe Mr. Holmes will give me anything for the two of you,” he said as they started off.

“Shows how much you know about us then. My husband has no care for Dr. Watson and I was actually planning to file for divorce today, so you’re probably doing him a favor if you get rid of me,” he said and John shot him a shocked look.

The man chuckled darkly. “Oh, I’m sure Mr. Holmes wouldn’t give you up that easily, he is rather attached to his associates.” He fixed them with a glare. “Now kindly shut up and sit quietly.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
When they both had their hands tied and were led into an empty warehouse, John nudged Greg. “Were you really divorcing Mycroft?” he asked and Greg shook his head subtly.

“We did have a big row yesterday, I did start packing my bags, but we made up. I just figured if we were under surveillance this whole time, he’d have seen it and believed me-“

“SHUT IT YOU TWO!” the man said, shoving them down onto the cement beneath a single beam of light coming in through a skylight far above in the warehouse roof.

Greg groaned and rolled up to his knees. “You are aware my husband has me under constant surveillance, aren’t you?” he spat angrily, cringing at the sting of his split lip from where he’d hit the ground face first. “You bloody well led his people straight here-“

“I count on it,” he said fiercely, stepping into the light to give Greg is first really good look at him. He was a tall man with blazing red hair cropped short. His skin was tanned and weather beaten whereas his clothes were well worn military style attire. 

John sat back on his heels and narrowed his eyes. “Where did you serve?” he asked and the man chucked darkly.

“Kosovo. Discharged for defecting to join the Serbs for some good ol’ fashion killing,” he said and John hummed.

“Ah, a bit before my time, then. Funny, you don’t look as old as I am,” he said, clearly trying to keep him talking. “Though I was doing residency in ninety-nine, not going off to combat-“

“Oh yes, the Army Doctor,” he sneered. “Bet you felt fancy, fixing up the ones who got their arses shot while you hung back at the base, you aren’t a bloody soldier-“

John tilted his head. “Wrong there, mate. Kosovo might’ve been one thing, but _four_ tours in Afghanistan on the front lines blurs the line between doctor and just another foot soldier, I can guarantee you that. You better be glad you tied me up, son, because it hasn’t been that long since I was in a good fight, just long enough to get me eager,” he spat and the man chuckled.

“I’d like to see you try, tiny little doctor,” he jeered. “Sebastian Moran is not a man who could be beaten in hand to hand combat by a tiny little man like you-“

“Alright, alright you’ve both had your piece,” Lestrade interrupted. “Moran, if that is your name, do you really understand what you’re doing?” he asked pointedly. “Soldier or not, my husband had the last person who shot at me _killed right under the police’s noses_. Mycroft may be a lot of things, but he’s not one to relax his hand when it comes to having people ‘erased’.” He shook his head. “You’ve bitten off more than you can chew, mate.”

Moran smirked darkly, startling Lestrade somewhat. “Is that so?” he asked before pulling out a hunting knife from his pocket and wordlessly throwing it at Lestrade, grinning evilly when Greg’s scream of pain echoed through the warehouse.

“FUCK!” Greg cried, looking down with wide eyes at the knife sticking not just into his forearm but out the other side as well. “Jesus Christ!” he choked out, falling back onto his heels, gritting his teeth in pain.

John looked with wide eyes as his friend rocked in place, fighting back more curses and cries of pain. “Alright, you’ve made your point!” he shouted as Moran walked closer, only to hiss sympathetically as Moran snatched the blade out, earning another scream of pain from Lestrade.

“Oh fuck you, bloody hell, fuck you,” Lestrade spat, looking down as his forearm spilled blood all down his front. “Damn it all,” he hissed, cringing as he clenched his fists.

John just whistled. “You’re gonna regret that one,” he said, giving Moran a dark look. “There’s no doubt about it, Mycroft will be here-“

“LET HIM COME!” Moran cried, laughing manically as he kicked Lestrade on his way past him, walking a circle around them. “The more the merrier, as far as I’m concerned.” He looked at Lestrade and smirked. “You and the good Doctor here will both die soon enough, so don’t worry about the scars,” he said with a sickening smile.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Their enemy had clearly timed himself well. 

Mycroft was sitting on the dusty sofa in Sherlock’s safe house when his mobile rang. It was Anthea so he knew he should take it. Sherlock gave him a rather impressive roll of his eyes as Mycroft answered the phone. “Yes?”

“Watson and Lestrade have been kidnapped,” she said in a rushed, but inflectionless voice. 

Mycroft nearly dropped the phone. “ _What_?!” he hissed and Sherlock looked up quickly.

“John Watson was in the park with his dog and Greg was with him. The dog was running after a ball when a man walked up to Greg and then, for some reason, he and John followed the man to his car. Our CCTV footage is a bit distant, but the old lady who was looking after the dog and looking for its owner when our men arrived on the scene said she thought a man with a gun had kidnapped the two with the dog. She said he forced them into a car at gunpoint-“

“Oh dear God, you incompetent fools!” Mycroft cried, standing abruptly. “Where are they now?! DO YOU HAVE THEIR LOCATION?!”

“Yes, sir. A team is ready to go-“

“Text me the location, Sherlock and I will be there immediately,” he said, looking up only to see Sherlock already throwing on his coat.

“Sir, I do think it’s too dangerous for you to go personally-“

“Anthea, that is my husband. He’s already suffered an attempt on his life before this, I will not leave his fate to the hands of someone else,” he spat acridly, hanging up just in time to rush out the door with Sherlock.

“John and Lestrade have been taken in broad daylight,” he said simply, his eyes alight with determination as he led the way for his brother, both of them climbing into the car that pulled up to the curb, barley pausing before rolling off again. “It’s Moran. He knows I’m alive and this is his last ditch effort to draw me out,” Sherlock said in a rush, fingers tapping at the door frantically. “He will kill them both to get my attention-“

Mycroft snorted softly. “I’ll be damned if this man hurts your friend or my husband, Sherlock. I’m sick of him. You know I do not like thorns in my side,” he said darkly and Sherlock gave him an amused glance.

“Lestrade really has brought out your emotions, brother. I do believe rage is one I haven’t seen from you in a very long time.” He turned to face front, eyes a mask of hatred. “Good.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Greg cried out again as he was once again kicked in the stomach, body flipped backwards with nothing more than his bound hands in front of him to protect himself with. His fingers were bloody, his knuckles busted from kicks, and his middle hurt so badly he was almost certain he had a broken rib or two. His lips was busted, his nose was bloodied, if not broken, and his left eye throbbed from the vicious punch he’d received. He had well and truly been worked over by Sebastian Moran. 

“You sick bastard,” John barked from his spot kneeling on the floor off to the side, unable to help since his legs had been tied as well while Moran set into beating the life out of Lestrade, it seemed. “Why won’t you leave him the hell alone?! Untie me and let’s go a few rounds, shall we?” he jeered but Moran just chuckled darkly.

“I’m not done with your friend, yet, though!” He kicked Lestrade again, sending him rolling across the dirty concrete floor.

Lestrade growled and scrambled to his knees, hands still bound in front of him. “You’re bloody lucky I didn’t carry my gun today,” he spat and John shot him a look. “What?! Like you’re the only one with illegal weapons,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes as he pushed himself up onto his feet, spitting blood on the floor as he faced Moran. “I’m getting real tired of your shit, Moran,” he growled and Moran chuckled.

“You’re a tough one, copper, I’ll give you that,” he said, circling around him slowly. “Especially for a man your age. You’ve got to be what, nearly fifty I suppose?”

“Fifty-one, actually. Feel bad about beating up an old man, do you?” he asked, flicking his hair back from his eyes. “Untie me and let’s see how big and bad you really are.”

“Oh, I doubt you’d have any success there,” Moran said, sliding his knife out of his pocket. “You know, for kidnapped men, you two really are feisty-“ He dodged out of the way just as John took the chance to throw himself at Moran, only to miss when he dodged. Tied hands and feet made it almost impossible to aim more than once. Moran kicked him hard, making him groan in pain. “You’d think you two would know better by now.”

“Yeah well, don’t hold your breath waiting for us to play it safe,” John grunted, struggling to sit up again. 

Moran just smirked and unsheathed his knife. “Well maybe this will teach you,” he said, and John tensed, only to cry out when Moran turned and stabbed Lestrade, the knife plunging into his side with a sickening ‘shick’. 

Lestrade didn’t even cry out, he simply gasped, paling. He let out a pained, strangled sound as Moran pulled the knife out, smirking at the way that Lestrade staggered back, bringing his bound hands up to his side before crumpling to his knees. John shot him a panicked look. “Greg?”

Lestrade whined and pressed. “That was on purpose, wasn’t it?” he asked Moran, his face a mask of pain. “Too far to the my right to hit organs,” he said and Moran smirked.

“Well, I can’t have you dying just yet,” he said, taking a moment to kick him right in his injured side, knocking him over with aloud cry of agony. “Still, should bleed quite nicely,” he said and John growled.

“You sick fuck!” he spat and Moran grinned.

“I’m just waiting on your friend to get here. I could’ve killed you both already,” he said, pulling a gun out of his thigh pocket. He trained it on John and smirked. “Would you like to die already?”

Greg looked up as they heard glass breaking up in the rafters and lights shined in from the skylights, accompanied by the sounds of helicopters. “That would be my husband,” he said in a ragged voice.

Moran smirked at him. “Good,” he said simply. He grabbed his knife and threw it at Greg again, grinning when he cried out in pain, the knife sticking out of his leg just above his knee.

“You sick bastard-“ John was silenced when Moran turned on him, training the gun on him.

“Times up, Doctor.” The sound of the gunshot drowned out Greg’s scream of John’s name as he watched John crumple to the ground in a heap.

“NO! Jesus Christ, you sick fucking bastard, I’ll kill you,” Greg spat, looking over with a sick feeling in his gut as he watched a motionless John laying in a puddle of his own blood, blood that was blossoming from a wound in his chest. John gave a sudden choked gasp and Greg felt his heart leap. John was alive, but he had no idea for how long the way he was bleeding. He looked at the knife in his thigh and up at Moran, who was looking at the sounds of someone breaking down the door, and then made a decision. 

He gritted his teeth against the pain of every wiggle of the knife in his thigh as he put his hands on the other side and used the part sticking out of his leg to cut through the fibers of the rope binding his wrists. He heard the doors blast open and looked to Moran, who just chuckled. “Well hello, boys,” he said, walking a few steps towards the doors as the dust cleared, clearly waiting on their rescuers to arrive. Greg took the chance to pull the knife out of his leg, hands now freed, and crawled to John silently, checking to make sure Moran’s back to was them as he stripped off his shirt and pressed it to the wound on John’s chest.

“Stay with me, John, okay?” Greg whispered, and John winced, swallowing hard.

“Missed the heart but it clipped the lung,” John wheezed. “Shattered ribs, I think-“

“Shhhh, don’t talk,” Greg said, and John nodded. “Look, they’re here, we’re surrounded, they’ll get you to a hospital, you’ll be fine,” he said and John winced, eyes fluttering. “No, stay with me, John!”

Greg was too busy looking after John to see what was happening, so he didn’t look up until he heard the unmistakable sound of _Mycroft_ ’s voice. “Sebastian Moran, how nice to meet you.” Greg looked up, eyes wide. _Mycroft shouldn’t be here_ , he thought. Mycroft never got his hands dirty.

“John…” Greg looked up to see the pale, panicked look on Sherlock’s face as he stood at his brother’s side, eyes trained on John, who was barely breathing under Greg’s hands.

Moran chuckled darkly. “Yes, your little pet… upset me,” he taunted and Greg saw Sherlock’s shock face to murderous rage, though he controlled it well.

“You will regret that, Mr. Moran,” Mycroft said in a level voice, nodding up to the windows around them. “Surely you are aware that there are guns trained on you from every direction.”

Moran smirked. “Aye, but I’m not afraid to die,” he said simply, nodding at Sherlock. “You’re meant to be dead, Mr. Holmes.” He turned the gun on Lestrade without looking, causing Lestrade to freeze, eyes on the barrel aimed at him. “Or else they are,” he said simply, eyes full of madness. 

“Think about what you’re doing,” Lestrade said in a steady voice. “I am a DI. Do you really want to do the time you would for shooting a police officer in cold blood?” he asked carefully, holding a hand up at him. “Just calm down and think about this,” he said, only to pause when a wave of dizziness caught him and he fell onto his hands, shaking his head.

“Ah, blood loss finally getting you, huh?” Moran said, looking over at Sherlock and Mycroft. “Stab wounds do that.”

Sherlock’s eyes flickered over him. “Lestrade?” he asked and Greg shook his head.

“I’m fine, it’s all good,” he said, giving him a cheery smile that faltered slightly as another wave of dizziness struck him.

John let out a wet cough. “Greg,” he gasped, clutching at Greg’s hand over his chest, looking up at him with wide eyes. “If you get a chance,” he choked out in a weak whisper. “Forget me and run for cover. I- I hear the helicopters. Leave me, get out of the line of fire.”

Greg shook his head. “No, John, you’ll be alright,” he said, then cringed. “Also, not so sure I’ll get very far,” he said, looking down at his side, the blood from which had soaked his entire right leg going down. “Pretty sure I’m gonna pass out soon.”

“Damn,” John wheezed, eyes fluttering.

Moran smirked. “What are you two talking about? How isn’t he dead yet?” he asked, nodding at John.

Lestrade glowered at him. “You’re a sick bastard,” he spat, gasping slightly when his arm shook and he nearly fell to the floor.

Moran turned back to Sherlock and Mycroft, only to freeze when he saw only Mycroft there. Lestrade smirked. Sherlock had slipped into the shadows while Moran was facing them and he knew he would get the jump on him soon. Mycroft inclined his head. “Now would be a good time to let go of that weapon if you wish to remain living,” he said calmly.

Moran hummed. “True,” he said, then smirked darkly. “Or not!” He raised the gun and Greg’s heart stopped as he saw Mycroft’s eyes widen. Greg couldn’t hold in a scream as he watched, almost as if in slow motion, as Moran’s finger squeezed the trigger.

Just as the shot popped off, Sherlock leapt from the shadows, Moran’s own discarded knife in his hand. He drove the blade between Moran’s shoulders, but not before the gun fired. Greg’s adrenaline overran his blood loss and he leapt to his feet, limping blindly towards his husband. “Mycroft! Mycroft, no!” he cried, stumbling and falling, crawling the last few feet to Mycroft, only to let out a terrified sound as he saw a crimson stain spreading terrifyingly fast across his husband’s middle, just below his ribcage. “Mycroft,” he breathed, touching his face as he took Mycroft’s hand. “Mycroft, breathe, okay?”

Mycroft nodded, his face blank and pale. “Just- just bleeding a little, that’s all,” he said, wincing visibly. “Never been shot before,” he said and Greg nodded, pressing a hand over the wound. Mycroft cried out softly but Greg shushed him.

“I have to, just stay still,” he whispered, holding Mycroft’s hand with his left and his right over the wound. He looked up to see Sherlock kicking Moran’s body over, a grim look of satisfaction on his face as he looked at his dead body. “Sherlock, get them in here!” he called and Sherlock snapped out of it, looking over at his brother, then over at John, frozen in shock. “SHERLOCK!” Lestrade shouted and Sherlock nodded then ran to the doors of the warehouse, quickly shouting for help before arriving back with a full team of men in black suits, as well as medics running towards them with bags in their hands. Sherlock rushed over to the EMTs surrounding John, pestering them and hissing curses at them every time he seemed to think they were moving too slow or taking too long with their assessment.

Greg stepped back when the medical personnel got to Mycroft and waved them off when they tried to help him. “I’m fine, fucks sake!” he argued.

“Sir, you’ve lost a lot of blood,” one man tried and Greg glowered.

“My husband is bleeding out from a gunshot wound, I can survive a couple of cuts!” he spat, looking back at Mycroft, unable to see his face for the cluster around him. 

He looked up as he heard Sherlock’s voice raised, only to have it drowned out by a woman standing abruptly from John’s side and running towards the door. “WE HAVE TO MOVE THIS ONE NOW!” she called as she ran to meet the team bringing back-boards into the warehouse, rushing them back to where John was at. Greg saw Sherlock arguing with someone and limped over quickly, catching Sherlock’s wrist just as he started shouting.

“Lestrade, let go of me-“ Sherlock stopped, taking him in. “Good God, why is nobody looking-“ 

“Shut up, fuck off, and listen!” he spat, weak and in pain. He squeezed Sherlock’s wrist in warning when he tried to rush off after the ones carrying John out. “If you want him to live, stop pestering them.” He whined as his vision swam some. “Look, I’m going to pass out soon, so how about you go commandeer Mycroft’s car and get to the hospital. I’m going with Mycroft, you get there and use my ID to convince them to let you have information on us all.” Sherlock started to protest and Lestrade shook his head. “I’m not stupid, you have stolen my ID twice since I found out you’re alive, you arse.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “You are more clever than I suspected,” was all he said before rushing out without another word.

Lestrade staggered back over to where the team around Mycroft were lifting him off the ground, strapped to a stretcher. A woman came over to him and he held up a hand. “I’ll let you look at me if you can do it while I’m in the ambulance with my husband. I’m not going anywhere that I can’t be completely sure how he’s doing,” he warned her. “I’ll have your arse arrested if you try and stop me,” he added.

“Fine, but hurry up, we have to get Mr. Holmes into surgery as fast as possible,” she said, offering Lestrade a hand to balance with as they rushed out after Mycroft and the team working on him.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Greg had spent two hours being forced to rest and let an IV replenish fluids in his body after arriving at the hospital, but he’d been kept updated on his husband’s condition the whole time. He was still in surgery by the time Lestrade was able to get to his feet. Even then, the only reason he was allowed to get up and walk around the hospital was because he was a police officer. He made his way down to the waiting room where he’d been told he could find Sherlock. He was wearing sweat pants and a tee shirt the hospital had given him, his own clothes taken as evidence, and he saw the sneer on Sherlock’s face the moment he saw him. 

“Open your mouth and I’ll shut it for you,” he said firmly, and Sherlock offered him a weak smile. He sat down slowly, hissing at the pressure to his freshly stitched side. “How’s John?”

Sherlock let out a pained sound. “Last I heard, he was barely clinging to life,” he whispered weakly. He looked up, staring ahead with his fingers tucked under his chin, biting at the tips of his middle fingers. “Everything I did… Everything I’ve done was to keep him safe,” he said softly. “Every second for nine months was all for John,” he breathed in a shocking moment of honesty. He looked over at Lestrade, his eyes glistening. “I failed him. I failed my mission,” he said weakly. “He’s- he’s everything to me.”

Lestrade hummed, leaning back. “I know, it’s only an idiot who would believe that ‘sociopath’ shit,” he said, looking over at him. “Trust me, Sherlock, I’ve known you ten years and two of those have been spent with your brother. I know how your brain works by now,” he said and Sherlock shot him a dark look. He nodded. “As pissed off as I am by this whole thing, and as much as I want to strangle you and your brother both, I understand.” He shook his head. “You Holmes boys get pretty intense when you mean something,” he said with a sad smile. “Trust me, I knew from the start that John would either leave or make you a better person. It’s not a shock to anybody that you love him-“

“I don’t _love_ him,” he spat, huffing over-reactively. “I just- he’s a good assistant and-“ He saw the flat look Greg was giving him and sighed. “Oh alright, yes, I do. Always have done, I think,” he said in a weary voice. “Damn it,” he added bitterly.

Lestrade couldn’t help letting out a bark of laughter. “Oh God, I know that feeling, mate.” He shook his head. “Jesus, same time last night? I was packing my bags to leave Mycroft.” He shook his head. “Couldn’t bloody do it. I love that stupid bastard too much,” he admitted. “Never despised fucking sentiment more in my life.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “As disgusting as my brother is and as ridiculous as it is you give a damn about him, he really has changed since you two met.” He cringed. “He’s… human-“

“You say that like you’re not,” Lestrade argued. “You’re the most human human being I’ve ever met, Sherlock Holmes. You are human nature incarnate. You are selfish and self-centered and egotistical and possess every single vice a human can have. Addiction, infatuation, obsession, mental disorders out the arse-“ Sherlock glared. “But above all of it you have a good heart. Questionable morals, sure enough, but in the end, you do have a heart.” He smiled sadly. “And more than anything, you have a best friend who loves you more than the world,” he added, biting his lip when Sherlock blinked hard, looking away. 

“How do people stand this?” Sherlock asked in a confused, weak voice. “How do people live their lives feeling these things all the time? I’ve never given a damn about another human before John. Not really. I mean, okay I do like you and Mrs. Hudson and occasionally even my mother, but I barely give a damn about Mycroft, I only like him more than the average stranger because he gets me out of trouble,” he admitted. “But _feeling_ love like this. There’s… there’s all this other stuff,” he said, scrunching up his face in distaste. “He always found ways to make me feel guilty and- and he got me to apologize and mean it. He would be disappointed at me and I’d regret things. I don’t do regret. I don’t feel guilt! But for John-“ He swallowed hard. “More than three decades of believing myself above petty human emotions and he made me feel… happy. And cared for. He made me want to make him proud, not just impress him.” He shook his head. “Is this normal? Do you feel things like this all the time?” 

Lestrade chuckled and smiled fondly. “Pretty much, Sherlock. It’s what people do. It’s why we do the things we do in our lives. It’s what gives ups the strength to get up when life kicks us down. Everything, even the bad things, it all means we’re _alive_.” He shook his head. “One of the reasons John tried to kill himself is because he didn’t have that anymore. His job isn’t important like it was when he was a soldier. His only family is a woman who has only recently started being sober more than an hour or two of the day. He felt like he had nothing left for him without you.”

Sherlock swallowed hard, blinking as he turned his wide gray eyes to Lestrade. “I- I made John feel these things? I made him feel important? Happy? I gave him a reason to- go get up in the morning?” he asked, voice and eyes more fragile than Lestrade had ever seen them.

Greg nodded gently. “John got a job at the surgery to keep your bills paid. He got up every day and went without sleep so he could keep your lights on and still be there at your side as you ran all over London all hours of the night chasing criminals. He _lived_ after so much pain from nightmares and memories, things he could end with one bullet, because you made him feel necessary. You gave him excitement. You gave him somebody to talk to and rely on. You needed him and he’s a natural born caregiver. When you left, he had nobody to care for, nobody to nurture, nobody to love. You, Sherlock, were the one thing at the center of his world, the spark that kept him going, and when you died, he lost _everything_.” He bit his lip. “John died in his own way when you did. All that was there was a shell of a man. After he failed at killing himself, he did turn things over some. He set about trying to help his sister, and now he’s got a dog- the lady who saw us kidnapped is taking care of the pup- and he was getting better, but when you died, it broke his heart.”

Sherlock looked up and Lestrade was shocked to see a tear slipping down his face. “I still wouldn’t change what I did. I kept him alive. I kept you alive. I kept Mrs. Hudson alive.” He swallowed hard. “But do you think he’ll ever forgive me?” he asked softly.

Lestrade sighed. “Honestly, Sherlock, I think the fact you’re not dead will matter more to him than the fact you broke his heart,” he said honestly. “I would be.” 

Sherlock sighed and nodded. “Dear God, I hope John is alright,” he breathed and Lestrade reached over to pat his shoulder. He looked up. “Is Mycroft…”

Greg smiled. “He should make it. The last the doctors told me, they were finishing surgery. It’ll be a bit of a recovery period, he was pretty banged up inside, but from what they said, he was mostly out of the woods as far as living or dying.” He sighed and let his head fall back against the wall. “Thank God, for that.” He chuckled. “Trust me, Sherlock, you may not like him terribly much, but John for you? That’s what your brother is for me,” he said and Sherlock made a face.

“You really need your head checked,” he said and Greg let out a startled laugh, smiling brightly at the serious look on Sherlock’s face.

“Oi, Mycroft’s not nearly as much of a handful as you are! I weep for John Watson because mine is a nightmare to live with as it is, God save the man who loves _you_ ,” he teased, more delighted than anything to see a small smile on Sherlock’s lips.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Greg smiled when Mycroft’s breathing changed and his eyes fluttered open. “Hello, Sleeping Beauty,” he whispered, pulling Mycroft’s hand to his lips.

Mycroft frowned. “Who?”

Greg chuckled. “You and your brother are so alike it scares me,” he offered, grinning slyly as he sat up taller, still holding Mycroft’s hand. “How are you, love?”

Mycroft sighed weakly. “Very drowsy. How long has it been?” he asked and Greg hissed softly.

“A while, actually. You lost consciousness in the ambulance, do you remember?” he asked, and Mycroft nodded slightly. “Well, that was about seven hours ago,” he answered. “I’ve been here about two hours or so. You’ve been out of surgery about three.”

Mycroft looked over at Lestrade, looking him over, taking in his battered face. “You were bleeding a lot, what happened?” he asked and Greg groaned, shifting some.

“Bastard stabbed me through the forearm, kicked me around a bit, then stabbed me in the side,” he said and Mycroft’s eyes showed a minor panic. “No worries, though!” Greg said quickly. “I’m quite alright. Got some stitches and replenished fluids, combined with some rest, then went to sit with Sherlock while you were still in surgery.”

Mycroft gave him an apprehensive look, almost as if afraid of what he was going to ask. “Is John…?”

Greg smiled sadly. “He’s alive, but it wasn’t until many hours later they decided he’ll stay there.” He bit his lip. 

Mycroft gave him a sad look. “Sherlock?” he asked and John chuckled weakly.

“Last I saw, he had stolen a doctor’s scrubs and ID and was sneaking into the ICU to gain access to John’s room without getting hauled back out automatically,” he said and Mycroft smiled.

“You didn’t stop him?” he asked and Greg scoffed.

“Like I wouldn’t break a few rules to see you if I were in his spot. He and John have a LOT to talk about once John wakes up, and I figure I’ll give him time to do that before I let them kick him out,” he said, stroking the back of Mycroft’s hand. “I’d probably wrongly arrest anybody who tried to keep me from you.”

Mycroft gave him a warm look. “I suppose the lack of improper incarcerations means I’m going to be alright?”

Greg nodded. “You’re in for a hell of a recovery, you’ll be bedridden for weeks, but you’ll recover fully with no lasting problems,” he said, glancing at his middle. “If it had got something hard to repair in there, you could’ve died.” He shook his head. “You cannot imagine how scared I was when he shot you, Myc.”

“Yes I can,” Mycroft argued with a small scoff. “I was sat in a meeting with government officials who I could not run out on when I heard you had been shot. I had to sit through a meeting and remain professional when my husband could’ve been dead for all I knew. Trust me, know exactly what you must have felt and I am so sorry,” he said, reaching out to cup Greg’s cheek. “I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”

Greg stood up and leaned over to kiss Mycroft’s lips gently. “Love you,” he said, stroking his hair back from his face.

Mycroft hummed and smiled weakly, eyes fluttering tiredly. “Love you too, Gregory.”

Greg smiled and nodded. “Rest now, love. You’re safe now.” He kissed his knuckles again, stroking at his wedding ring. “We all are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking with me through this! Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
